


Anamnesis

by petit_moineau



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Deception, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5502563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petit_moineau/pseuds/petit_moineau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack meets a stranger while consigned to desk duty, the Doctor tries and fails to fit in, and things never happen to time travelers in the right order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anamnesis

**Author's Note:**

> If I mess up any Torchwood deets, I'm only on episode 4, and I'm sorry--I'll feel embarrassed about it later. This will only have a handful of chapters, I think. This is also probably very ridiculous and I wrote it in about twenty minutes.

There was, in Jack's opinion, nothing stupider or more miserable than being consigned to front desk duty, but evidently being immortal didn't necessarily mean being quick-healing from non-mortal injuries, and the gunshot wound in his leg left him unable to do field work. Or run. Or stand for long periods. Or do anything but sit in a damp office with his good leg slung up on the desk and a book in his hand--for hours upon blindingly dull hours.

The door swinging open was not something he expected. The door yielding a young man who looked like a public school escapee was something he expected even less. Jack couldn't decide whether the man was old enough to be a professor at a school or young enough to be a student at one--he was easily younger than Jack, but then again, the pyramids were nearly younger than Jack. Either way, the word that sprang to Jack's mind first was _adorable_. Not a word he used lightly, or often, but it seemed apt to describe the braces-wearing, bow tie-adorned, floofy-haired, gangling thing in front of him. Jack gave him the smile that Gwen said made him look like a pit viper, though Jack thought it made him unfairly menacing. "Are you interested in tourism information?" Jack waved a hand around the shabby office. They really did keep brochures and things, just in case.

"You're not Welsh," the stranger said automatically, revealing an Estuary accent that was trying way too hard to be BBC. He had the chagrin to look embarrassed, at least. Jack liked that.

"Neither are you," Jack replied, letting his smile slip into something a little more sly.

"Yes, right," the stranger said, flummoxed. Jack was rewarded with a slight blush on the man's slender neck. "That's why I need, y'know, tourist information. I'm new, you see, to Cardiff, which is why I need information. On things. That tourists do."

Jack didn't laugh, but oh, how he wanted to. He bounced his good leg and let the stranger sweat a little. "Did you know that if you're trying to blend in, you're not doing a good job?" Just to see if the blush on the man's neck crept upward.

Oh, bless him, it _did._

"I never seem to," the man said with just a touch of misery.

"It might be your manner of dress," Jack said casually, giving the man a much thorougher once-over than the situation really called for.

"My what?" he balked.

"Don't get me wrong," Jack reassured him, "I think it's adorable--" a risky word choice, he knew, but life was short-- "but it's not conducive to blending in with the lads, is it?"

"B-but what about you? All got up with...with braces and a watch chain, like you've escaped out of the war!"

Jack smiled like he had a secret. Which, of course... "What if I have?"

"And honestly, is it _really_ necessary to have that many buttons down on your shirt? It's freezing in here!"

Jack shrugged easily. This was far too much fun. "Call me warm-blooded," he drawled.

"Are you...are you flirting with me?" the stranger asked uncertainly.

Jack grinned. "Would you like it if I were?"

"Stop it," the man said, but it seemed more reflexive than anything.

Jack mentally flipped a coin. "You don't really want me to," he said coyly. He'd heard those words before from another man with another face.

The stranger's mouth--a touch wide, which helped to offset his ridiculous chin--opened and shut several times as aborted sounds leaked out. That delicious blush spread across his cheeks. "I..."

Jack felt a bit like a cat who'd been chasing a mouse too long. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Oh, alright," the man spat, clearly annoyed with himself. Jack grinned the widest yet as the coin in his head landed tails-up.

'Drink' turned out to be an exceptionally good bottle of scotch shared in the stranger's newly-rented flat, on a sofa with broken springs that both men fell into like a sinkhole opening up beneath them. Jack rather liked it; it was cozy, and it kept forcing the two of them into each other as they shifted. Now, well into the bottle, they were pressed together shoulder to bent knee, the stranger nestled into Jack like a bag of bone and sinew. His flat was _definitely_ the home of an academic--books stacked in piles that made little sense, a little bookshelf crammed full of antiques and odds-and-ends, minimal attention to detail or, for that matter, functional furniture. The man kept apologizing for the closeness, but Jack just smiled into the bottle. The man hadn't bought drinking glasses yet. Not that Jack minded.

The scotch and the piney, clean scent of the man's aftershave, the slightly hazy late afternoon light and the warmth pressed into his side were making Jack's head swim in the most delectable way. He'd already done way too much talking about himself, always a dangerous topic with strangers, but he had some retcon in his coat pocket if he said too much. He couldn't figure out for the life of him why he hadn't kissed the man yet. He watched those lips form around the bottle, watched that slim throat bob as he swallowed. The stranger, conscious of eyes on him, flushed rewardingly and shifted on the couch so that he was on his side, facing Jack. Jack mirrored him. The man had lovely eyes, gold and green. "It just seemed like a nice place to go," he said suddenly.

"What did?"

"Cardiff. For a while. I just wanted a place to rest. I've been...travelling...a long time."

"Right, for your doctoral research," Jack nodded, filling in. Lazily, flagrantly, he moved to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt and roll back his sleeves. It wasn't all that warm in the flat, in fact, the man across from him was still wearing his tweed jacket (complete with leather elbows-- _very_ scholarly), but Jack had good arms and he knew it. He wanted to show off. The man's eyes tracked the motions, tracked the veins of Jack's forearms, and came back to Jack's face a bit hazier for it. Jack smirked into the back of the sofa. "Do I seem like a nice man?"

The man let out a startled laugh. "No!"

"No?" Jack grinned.

"No," the man chuckled. "But you're interesting, and you've got nice eyes."

Jack leaned forward, watching the pressure on his bad leg, and he cupped the man's face as much to balance himself as to seduce. The man had absurdly smooth skin; Jack rubbed his thumb over his collarbone and it felt like satin beneath Jack's callused fingertips. "I'm going to kiss you now," he warned. The man's eyes fluttered shut in response.

The stranger kissed with a hunger that left Jack breathless. His lips seared into Jack's as if he could sink into Jack if only he tried hard enough. He kissed like it was a lifeline, like he'd been cast adrift for millennia. Jack gave as good as he got, nipping gently at the man's lower lip and running his tongue along it. The man twisted the front of Jack's shirt in his fists and pulled him closer. Jack stumbled into the man a little, knocking him backward onto the couch with a breathless laugh. "Sorry," he rasped, "bad leg." The stranger merely hauled Jack down, his long fingers knotting in Jack's hair. Jack peppered the man's gorgeous throat with languid kisses, sucking on the skin enough to be felt but not enough to leave marks--though he sorely wanted to, wanted to mark up his pretty pale skin as a way to be remembered in the morning. He enjoyed the man's little pants for breath beneath him as he worked his way upward. The man shivered when Jack sucked on the spot just behind his lower jawbone, and he gasped when Jack's teeth scraped his earlobe, arching his hips into Jack's. Jack hissed and let go of the man's ear as their erections slid against each other. Their foreheads met. "I'm going to take you to bed now," Jack said lowly, gasping a little as the man rolled his hips with deliberation.

"In my own flat? _You're_ taking _me_ somewhere in my own flat?" the stranger laughed deliciously. But he pushed Jack backwards and off him with care, kissing him all the while. 

Being in front of the bed in the falling light made both of them a little shy. Jack reached for him slowly. They undressed each other unhurriedly, with a degree of intimacy Jack knew to be dangerous but was enjoying too much to stop. The man kissed Jack with the same hunger but less desperation, more enjoyment. Jack guided him gently to the bed, his hair flopping in his eyes. Jack propped himself up on his elbow to look at the man. He hoped he was good at hiding the surprise he felt; from leaning into him on the sofa, he hadn't expected the man to look so strong under his clothes. He had felt bony and a bit awkward, but now he felt like a heaven-sent combination of strength and softness, gentle curves and sharp muscular planes. "You're beautiful," he exhaled before he could stop himself.

"What?" The man gave Jack a startled look, his hazel eyes wide.

"You're beautiful," Jack repeated, embarrassed now, but he meant it; he traced the man's chest with a light and lazy touch.

The man suddenly looked sad almost to the point of heartbreak. "No, I'm not. Not in this body."

Jack had no idea what that meant, but had every desire to kiss the sadness from his eyes. "Yes, you are," he replied between kisses. "You're gorgeous."

And the moment the man shattered to pieces under him was the most gorgeous thing of all.

Jack, did not, as a general rule cuddle people after sex--or ever. It was too intimate, especially after sex, but then again, this whole afternoon had been drenched in it, and when the man with the gorgeous eyes had asked him to stay, he did. He held him close, stroking his silky hair and admiring the bite bruises ringing his collarbones. Jack slipped out of bed at dawn to limp back to the Hub. He knew he should slip retcon into the morning coffee or into the sleeping man's mouth, slightly parted, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he leaned over and kissed the man's cheek. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered fondly.

He realized, as he watched the sun rise over the bay, that he didn't even know the man's name. He sighed to himself and turned to go in.


End file.
